Hope
by TwistedTale
Summary: Marius Black, age ten, is infected with the worst kind of disease. Hope.


Summary: Marius Black, age ten, is infected with the worst kind of disease. Hope.

An: Unbetaed, but I had to finish in a rush. My piece for Women's Tennis in the Hogwarts Olympics challenge, please be kind until I can get it to a beta after the judging.

Hope

* * *

The doubt started with a burst of accidental magic from his sister Dorea… his infant sister. They had been sitting at the dinner table with his mother's family, the Bulstrodes, and Dorea had been babbling quietly to herself when a biscuit flew from the table into her waiting hand.

The dinner quickly turned into a celebration.

The baby was picked up, praised, cuddled, kissed, and passed around as the current pride of the family.

"I remember when Violetta had her first burst of magic," his grandmother started, taking a swing of hundred year old brandy and staring fondly at his mother. "We were in the nursery and apparently I was taking too long with her bottle, it soared right out of my hands! It gave me quite the fright before I realized what had happened."

The adults all laughed.

"That is nothing compared to what Pollux did," his father started, leaning back into his chair "We were out on the patio for lunch- I believe he was about two then- when one of the elves appeared with sandwiches, scared the boy into exploding the platter right from out of its hands."

They laughed again, his father placing one of his lean graceful hands on his older brother's shoulder. His brother blushed and stared at his plate of half eaten food until the topic turned to his other sister.

"We can't forget about Cassie's first burst either. She started a bit late but when she was almost seven she turned all of her stuffed animals an abominable shade of pink."

Cassiopeia beamed at the attention and flipped her stick straight black hair "Well I like pink, the toys were simply too white for my tastes." The adults grinned at her and she basked under the praise they showered.

"Now what about Marius? I don't believe we have mentioned him yet." His grandfather said, leaning in.

There the adults went quiet.

"He is just a bit of a late bloomer," his mother said, running a hand through his hair and pressing him against her side. His father nodded.

"There has never been a Black without magic, Marius will be no different."

His grandfather grunted and stared at him with unnerving intensity and Marius shivered under his gaze. It was if he knew something… and perhaps he did. The Bulstrodes were infamous for producing less than stellar children, some ugly, some stupid, and more squibs than what would be considered average for a pureblood family.

His mother had been a rare example of what the family was capable of: Intelligence, beauty, and ability with a wand that could put all others to shame.

Marius took after her, he had her curly hair- except his was black instead of her brown- her slight slender figure- that his father was sure would fill out as he grew- and the same lips- rosebud his mother called them.

He may have been the second Black son, but he was his mother's son first, and naturally had a lot of expectations on him from her because of it.

"Don't worry my little warrior, your magic will come in time, just wait and see." She had whispered to him as he went to bed that night.

He hoped she was right.

The next morning the tutor had come and Marius was instantly put to work on an essay while his brother and sister practiced their spell work.

Three hours later Marius scribbled the finishing touches to his essay and carefully looked it over before nodding his approval. With a blotter he carefully dried his essay and looked it over once more just to be sure of its accuracy. His tutor would be pleased with it.

He scooted out of his chair and quietly made his way to the Library.

"-no, no girl. Like this, with a bit more twist to the wrist."

The Black family tutor hovered over Cassiopeia, quickly adjusting her grip on her wand and quickly moving away from her again.

"Cast."

His sister's eyes narrowed in concentration and twisted her wrist sharply. A small light glowed at the tip and as she beamed the light grew brighter.

"I did it!"

The tutor nodded briskly and turned to Pollux. His older brother was huddled in the corner of the library, his dark eyes scanning through one of the books of their library. It was a book of dark magic. Marius knew because he had already read it, he had already read half of the books in the room.

"Pollux, take that book and practice your curses outside."

The teen rolled his eyes and shut the book with a snap, sauntering out the back doors without a word. The tutor shook his head.

"That boy…" he muttered, turning slowly to Marius.

"Ah there you are Marius, is your essay complete?"

Marius nodded and handed it over. The man's eyes scanned over the parchment for a moment before closing it with a smile. "Perfect as always, Ravenclaw is in your future child." Marius' heart clenched with longing at the thought.

Cassiopeia scrunched up her nose. "Why on earth would _anyone _want to go _there _they don't _do _anything but _read_."

The man frowned "I would disagree girl, it was my old house and I remember doing quite a bit more than reading."

She blushed.

"May I return to my room sir?" Marius piped up. The man nodded and waved him away.

"Go, your sister and I still have work to do."

Without another word he crept out the door and made his way to the attic. He hated lying to his tutor, the man had been nothing but kind to him since day one. But it was time to check again.

He climbed the dusty stairs and opened the small trap door to the attic. It was big enough for a house elf. Not surprising considering that only the elves entered the room.

It was all very familiar to Marius. He knew each nook and cranny, he knew each piece of furniture and his fingers traced over each piece like they were old friends. He found the old box in the back where he had left it.

It was full of the wands of his ancestors.

He had painstakingly collected each one from the various trunks, wardrobes, and dressers in the attic over the years, and every month he would go through them again. Picking each one up, tight fisted, and wishing with everything he had for a reaction.

He never got anything, not a spark, not a flicker, not even a speck of magic.

It broke his heart every time. Yet every month he tried again, he found more wands, he grasped them tightly, and _wished_ with everything he had.

He still had hope. Painful, disparate, hope to be sure, but hope none the less.

He still had one year.

He had one year before he knew for sure.

Until then, until he saw the disappointment in his mother's eyes, until his father disowned him, until his siblings abandoned him, he would keep trying. But most of all, he would hope.


End file.
